Once they were inside Joshua’s car, Cameron smiled softly when she saw Joshua wipe the tears from his eyes before starting the engine. “Imagine, as bad as we think this smell is, a cat’s sense of smell is hundreds of times stronger than a human’s. Think about it. Irving got a direct hit by that skunk. He’s suffering a lot more than we are.”
“I don’t think so.” He pointed over her shoulder to the living room bay window where they could see Irving tucked inside the curtains while sunning himself. They could make out his expression as being one of complete contentment.
“He wasn’t that happy while he was getting his tomato juice bath,” she said.
Joshua was holding the sides of his nose. “And I’m not happy now.”
The alibi witness at the top of Cameron’s list was Randy Vincent. He claimed that on the night that Angie Sullivan disappeared, he and Cheryl hooked up in his van at the First Street overlook in Chester after the Melody Lane Skating rink had closed.
Cameron studied her notes on Randy Vincent while Joshua drove along Locust Hill Road toward the countryside outside of Chester. “In the 1990’s, Randy Vincent did five years in a prison in Pennsylvania for vehicular homicide—driving while under the influence.”
“Sounds like my type of guy,” he said with sarcasm. “Who’d he kill?”
“A thirty-two year old woman.” She stopped to swallow. “Her four-month-old baby was in the car. Vincent came out without a scratch.”
“I hate the guy already.”
The report reminding her of another vehicular homicide case, Cameron closed the file. She couldn’t read it anymore. “Maybe prison rehabilitated him.”
As he turned the steering wheel to maneuver the SUV up a dirt country road leading back to the Vincent compound, Joshua glanced at her. He had seen that distant look in her eyes before.
When an awkward silence filled the car, Joshua wondered if she knew that he had learned through a background check about her short marriage, which she had yet to reveal to him.
Only four months after her wedding day, her husband, a Pennsylvania State trooper, was rundown by a drunk driver while he had another car pulled off to the side of the road for a routine traffic stop.
Cameron’s silence about her husband made Joshua aware that he had no problem bringing up his late wife to her. He assumed it was because Valerie had been such a large part of his life. She had been the mother of his children.
Cameron’s marriage had been brief, and they had no children. For her, it was less painful to pretend it had never happened, which could explain why she never mentioned it to him.
The dirt lane ended at a small farm hidden behind deep woods. Two horses, their coats caked with mud, grazed in a small field. The barn looked like it was only big enough for the two of them. The farmhouse was not much bigger.
After parking the SUV near the barn, Joshua and Cameron got out of the car. Before they could cross the driveway to the house, the front door opened and three big dogs bounded out toward them.
The woman at the door yelled over their barking. “They don’t bite.” She wasn’t lying. Rather, they were more interested in taking the guests down by way of body slamming them down to the ground.
Once they got a whiff of Cameron, the three dogs turned their attention to Joshua, who was able to remain on his feet while easing them to the ground.
“I guess they like you,” she told him when they got to the door.
Joshua shot her a dirty look. “I don’t think it’s so much that they like me as they don’t like skunk.”
“Are you serious?” She glared at him until he gestured for her to follow the young woman, who had introduced herself as Mona, Randall Vincent’s daughter, inside the modest home.
They found Randall Vincent in the living room watching a talk show on a big screen television. The guests on the show, a man and woman, were screaming at each other while the audience and host egged them on.
According to the background check, Randall Vincent was a middle-aged man. However, he appeared to be living proof that it’s not the years; it’s the mileage. Stretched out on the well-worn sofa, he cradled the oxygen tank that rested in a sling under his arm. His stringy, greasy hair hung down to his neck. His goatee and mustache resembled a wire brush. He was wrapped up in a faded bathrobe that was as dirty as the filthy t-shirt and boxers, which he wore in lieu of pants. His face was yellow with jaundice.
He didn’t break his stare when Mona showed them in and introduced them to her father. “Dad, this is the police detective I told you about who called last night,” she yelled over the television before going back into the other room.
Joshua saw her watching them while busying herself at the kitchen counter.
Cameron stepped over to the sofa and held out her badge so that he could see it while introducing herself. “I’m investigating Cheryl Smith’s and Angelina Sullivan’s murders. Can I ask you a few questions?” When he didn’t respond, she asked him if he understood what she was asking.
“I understood ya.”
From where he was watching near the doorway, Joshua asked, “Can you turn down the volume so we can talk?”
With a glare in Joshua’s direction, Randall held up the remote, pointed it at the television, and blasted the volume.
Cameron and Joshua exchanged glances. She took the lead. “Mr. Vincent, if you don’t want to talk to us here, I can take you into the police station to talk.”
“Shut up, bitch,” he replied in a loud voice.
“What did you call her?” Joshua crossed the room toward him so quickly that the man on the sofa rose as if he were ready to take him on.
Cameron’s arm shot out to catch Joshua in the chest to stop him. “I’ll handle this.”
“I know my rights,” Randall eased back down onto the sofa. “I don’t have to talk to either of you.”
“We’re trying to find out who killed Cheryl Smith,” she replied.
With a curse, Randall gathered up his oxygen tank and pulled himself up from off the sofa.
“Don’t you want to know who killed her?” she asked.
Tucking the tank under his arm like a football, he shuffled down the hallway toward the back of the house while extracting a cigarette from a pack.
“She was supposed to be your friend,” she called after him.
When he opened the door in the hallway, the odor of stale cigarette smoke shot out. He shot her a hate-filled glare over his shoulder before going inside and slamming the door.
Cameron looked over at Joshua. “That went well.”
“He’s right.” Joshua led her back to the kitchen and to the door. “He doesn’t have to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry for my father,” Mona apologized as she led them to the front door. “He’s an A-Number-One jerk. The only reason I put up with him is because I know if I didn’t, he’d be on the streets.”
“You’re a good daughter,” Joshua told her.
“No, I’m not,” she replied. “I’m an enabler. Maybe if he was out on the streets he’d straighten up.”
“Then he’d be my problem,” Joshua said.
“Which is why I enable him, to protect society.” She followed them out onto the porch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Cameron and Joshua exchanged questioning expression while dodging moving dogs on their way down the steps. The canines seemed intent on tripping them.
At the bottom of the porch step, Mona whispered, “Cheryl Smith didn’t kill Angie Sullivan.”
Cameron stopped.
Joshua turned around to face Mona. A hard life of caring for her father made her appear older than her actual years. Even so, Angie Sullivan’s disappearance was before her time. “And you know that how?”
“He told me.” She tossed her head to indicate the man inside the house who was smoking a cigarette while cradling his oxygen tank. “He told me everything when it hit the news about finding Cherry Pickens in Hookstown.” She scoffed. “He’s so proud of himself having screwed sex symbol Cherry Pickens. I had no idea who she was, until I remembered that he has a box of those smut tapes in his room, and he watches them at night after a six pack of beer. I recognized her picture in the newspaper from those tapes.”
Crooking her finger at them, she led them across the driveway to move away from the house where he could hear. “He told me about how the police thought Cherry, Cheryl, had killed Angie Sullivan, this girl she had a big fight with at the skating rink in Hookstown.”
“But he made a statement to the police that she didn’t do it,” Cameron said. “He was Cheryl’s alibi.”
Mona confirmed that she was right with a nod of her head. “They were having sex in the back of his van.”
“Was he telling the truth?” Joshua asked.
“I have no doubt that he was telling me the truth,” she said. “He told me the rest of the story—what he didn’t tell the police and didn’t want to tell you.”
“He wasn’t with her all night?” Cameron asked.
“He was drunk and high,” Mona said. “After they had sex, he passed out and didn’t wake up until after the sun had risen the next morning.”
“Then he can’t alibi her,” the detective said.
Mona grinned. “But he knows she didn’t do it.”
“How can he be so sure if he was passed out?” Joshua asked.
“Because she told him.” When Joshua and Cameron exchanged doubtful glances, she added, “She also told him that she knew who did kill Angie Sullivan.”
“And he believed her?” Cameron scoffed.
“He had proof.”
Cameron squinted at her. “What type of proof?”
“Not actual evidence.” Mona glanced over her shoulder. They could see that she wanted to make sure her father wasn’t watching her betray the secret he wanted kept because of his own nastiness. “Dad told me that the night that Cheryl had gotten into that fight with Angie, she was bitching to him about how she had no money. When they went to the First Street overlook, while they were drinking and smoking, she told him that she had figured it out. She would have to work over a year for that fast food joint where she flipped burgers, and not spend any money on anything, before she could save enough money to go to Hollywood. That was her dream, to go to Hollywood and be in the movies.”
“Which she did,” Cameron said.
“After Angie went missing and the police started asking around,” Mona said, “Dad knew that he was so out of it that Cheryl could have left the van and done something stupid like hunt down and kill Angie.” She lowered her voice. “Dad said that Cheryl had one nasty temper. So he went and asked her flat out if she had killed Angie. She laughed at him and said that she didn’t, but she knew who did. He asked her how, but she refused to tell him anything about it. She said it was so good that she was keeping it to herself.” She cocked her head at them. “Dad didn’t believe her, but she was his friend, so he backed her up and alibied her. Then, ten days later, lo and behold, Cheryl was on her way to Hollywood. When she went to see Dad to tell him good-bye and thank him for alibiing her, he asked her where she got the money. She laughed at him and said that she had a benefactor who was paying her way to Hollywood in style.” She nodded her head. “That was when he believed her that she knew who did it.”
“But if she knew who killed Angie Sullivan, why didn’t she tell the police when they accused her of doing it?” Cameron asked.
With a distant look in his eyes, Joshua muttered, “Because she wanted to go to Hollywood and needed someone to pay her way. It was more beneficial to her to keep her mouth shut and blackmail the real killer.”
“I’m only telling you what Dad told me he knew,” Mona said. “I hope it helps you.”
Joshua shook her hand. “You’ve been a big help. Thank you so much.” He was in the car before Cameron had time to finish shaking her hand. “Get in the car, Cam. I have something to show you.”
She had barely fastened her seatbelt before Joshua was tearing down the lane to Locust Hill Road. “Where are we going in such a hurry?”
“Someplace quiet to neck.”
The First Street overlook in Chester had once been the home of the Chester Bridge, referred to now as the Old Chester Bridge. After the bridge had been torn down in the 1960’s, the entranceway that had led onto the bridge was converted into an overlook. With a fantastic view of the river, residents could sit on benches and enjoy the view and fresh air while having lunch. In the evening, couples would park and kiss. They didn’t so much anymore.
Over the years, rowdy, young people had driven the quiet lovers out. After a plaque honoring Dr. Russ Pugh, a late town doctor who had been a mentor of Tad’s, had been vandalized, Joshua had surveillance cameras installed in hopes of catching the culprits. So far, they hadn’t had any luck.
“This is gorgeous,” Cameron said in a breathy voice when she saw the expansive view up and down the river.
From where Joshua had parked the SUV up at the railing, she had a clear view of East Liverpool across the river. On her left, she could see all the way down past the Newell Bridge. To the right, she could see the houses along the river bank all the way down to the new Chester Bridge. “I can imagine what this is like at night . . . with all the lights across the river . . .”
“It’s one of the best views in town,” he told her.
She turned to him.